


Body Paint

by The_Audacity



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29589711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Audacity/pseuds/The_Audacity
Summary: Ichigo needs help with a little art project. He asks Uryuu for help.
Relationships: Ishida Uryuu & Kurosaki Ichigo
Kudos: 4





	Body Paint

“This is really weird, Kurosaki.”

“Yeah, Ishida, you said that already. So, are you gonna do it or just stand there staring at me?”

He just stood there staring at Kurosaki. The tube of paint he held felt too heavy and too light at the same time. Uryuu looked at it, then him, and asked, “Why me?”

“Because,” Kurosaki replied, gesturing vaguely at him as a whole, “you’re the only guy I know who’s all artsy and shit.”

Uryuu’s eyebrow quirked. “‘Artsy and shit?’”

“Well, you sketch designs to sew clothes, don’t you?”

“That qualifies me as artsy?”

“Listen, I can’t draw a straight line to save my life,” said Kurosaki with an exasperated sigh. “Even if I could, I can’t reach everywhere well enough to paint these stupid symbols Ryoko gave me, so—”

“Who’s Ryoko?” Uryuu asked, taking the offered sheet of paper outlining the project in lurid shades of colorful charcoal. “And why is her canvas of choice _your body_?”

“She’s a friend, okay? Her model dropped out last minute and her show is tonight. I owe her a favor, so I told her I’d help her out.”

“If she’s the artist, why can’t she do her own painting?”

Kurosaki rolled his eyes. “‘Cause she’s got a clingy, meathead boyfriend and I don’t wanna have to kick his ass if he flips out to find his girlfriend alone in a room with some random half-nude dude.”

“Why can’t her boyfriend be the model?”

“He’s allergic to this shit,” Kurosaki claimed, holding up another hue of the same paint Uryuu held. “Ryoko said she tried to paint him once and he broke out in some crazy rash.”

Squinting at the ingredients list printed in minuscule kanji on the reverse side, he recognized several chemicals used as preservatives that tended to cause averse reactions in a small percentage of the average population. “Are you sure you’re not allergic?”

“Yeah, we did a test run earlier today on my wrist,” Kurosaki said, holding out his arm to show a spot of white paint there. “Nothing so far.”

“Delayed hypersensitivity reactions can take days to manifest,” argued Uryuu. “Do you really want to risk it for a friend’s art show?”

“I have to. Like I said, I owe her, and I already agreed to do it.” When he started to voice another objection, Kurosaki griped, “Ishida, I really don’t see the big issue here. Unless you’ve got some secret crush on me that would make it awkward as hell to see me mostly naked, then quit complaining and just paint me already.”

Other than adopting an annoyed glare, Uryuu’s expression didn’t change. He said, “The issue is that I’ll have to touch your ‘mostly naked’ body with my bare hands, idiot. Your friend forgot to bring brushes when she lent you the paint.”

“Oh,” Kurosaki mumbled sheepishly, glancing at the pile of paints he’d dumped straight from her borrowed canvas bag onto his bedspread. “Damn. You’re right.” He shrugged and suggested, “I think I’ve got some spare exam gloves in my lab coat pocket.”

Shaking his head, Uryuu pointed out, “I would need more than one or two pair. Nitrile doesn’t rinse well; I’d have to change gloves after each color.”

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. A few seconds later, Kurosaki dropped his arm and straightened with determination to say, “All right, so it’ll be a little awkward. I’m still asking.”

“In that case, I hope whatever favor she did for you is worth owing me one in return.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever.”

“I’m talking _huge_ , Kurosaki. As in, a ‘no questions asked, I call and you drop everything’ kind of favor.”

“I said I understand,” he snapped, swiping his shirt off in one smooth motion. “Let’s get this over with.”

Uryuu cleared his throat and pushed up his glasses, straight to business. He took a paper plate from the stack atop Kurosaki’s mini-fridge to use as a makeshift palette, then pinned the artist’s concept drawing to a large cork board mounted on the wall above his desk. One of the photos tacked to the board caught Uryuu’s eye. It featured the two of them plus three of their old high school friends, all smiling and laughing together like carefree kids. In the picture, Kurosaki’s gaze almost seemed to be aimed in Uryuu’s direction…but it was probably just the camera angle.

When he turned around, Kurosaki had taken off his jeans, too. He stood there wearing nothing but his underwear and a disgruntled frown.

“Are you wearing those during the show?” Uryuu asked without looking at him as he flipped open a tube cap to squeeze a fat dollop onto his palette. “You won’t be able to change clothes once I start painting or it might smear.”

“These are as good as any I own. Ryoko didn’t mention any specific color for my underwear.”

“They’re grey in her drawing.”

Kurosaki shrugged and decided, “Black is close enough.”

“If it were my project—”

“Yeah, well Ryoko isn’t a perfectionist like you, so who cares?”

Now Uryuu was frowning, too. As he studied the drawing more closely, he realized, “This is going to take a while.” He needed a distraction. Something to keep him focused without focusing on Kurosaki. “Can you put some music on?”

He nodded. “What genre do you want?”

“It doesn’t matter. You pick.”

While Uryuu stayed by the bed mixing paint to create the base layer, Kurosaki went to grab his phone and Bluetooth it to his speakers. Uryuu paused to hear the music start to play, because the genre he’d picked was darkly sensual with bold rock undertones. It sounded like the sort of soundtrack someone would use for a sexy supernatural horror film.

Noticing his look of mild confusion, Kurosaki defensively said, “What? It’s relaxing.”

Uryuu chose not to comment. He pointed at the floor in front of him, where a wide plastic drop sheet had been spread out, and Kurosaki obediently came over to stand there.

“This is going to take so much paint,” Uryuu muttered as he began slathering it across Kurosaki’s chest and shoulders. He had mixed quite a lot of it but didn’t even have enough to finish the front of his torso.

“Are you calling me fat?” Eyes flicking briefly to his, Uryuu didn’t justify that moronic question with a response. “Shit, that’s cold…”

As if to demonstrate, Kurosaki’s nipples stiffened as a chill rippled across his skin.

“Why don’t you turn up the thermostat?”

“Yeah, good idea.” He went to the panel by his front door and adjusted the dial. Uryuu felt the heater kick on immediately, shivering from a warm gust that hit the back of his neck. Kurosaki saw it as he walked back over. “Were you cold? Should’ve said something.”

“I’m fine. Just be quiet and hold still.”

He scoffed at Uryuu’s authoritative tone but did as he was told.

Having expected Kurosaki to gaze disinterestedly across the room, it was unnerving when he watched Uryuu work instead. He kept his eyes on-task and pretended not to care that Kurosaki’s were glued to his face.

But Uryuu couldn’t pretend he wasn’t surprised to hear him say, “You have gentle hands.”

He nudged up the side of his sliding glasses with the back of his hand and asked, “Did you think they would be rough?”

“Yeah, kinda. Figured you’d use your hands like you use your words.”

“How’s that?” he asked.

Kurosaki smiled wryly. “To push me away.”

His hands stilled as he blinked and looked up from coating an arm in a deep bluish violet. Uryuu was a little stunned to hear him say that, but he tried not to show it.

“What are you talking about, Kurosaki?” he asked dismissively as he returned to his work. “This scenario is weird enough without you saying weird things, too.”

He laughed lightly and said, “Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

Yet, as he fell silent to let Uryuu paint in peace, the lack of dialogue left more room for his thoughts. Like how he didn’t hate Kurosaki’s scary/sexy rock music. Or that he actually had been cold—but he’d never admit it—and now he was feeling much more comfortable. Or that running his hands over his friend’s nearly nude body wasn’t half as awkward as he had anticipated.

It got a bit more awkward when Uryuu reached the hem of his waistband. Kurosaki always wore his jeans low and his underwear lower. Uryuu had to scoot it a teeny tad lower still to make sure the line wouldn’t show and spoil the contiguous effect. He thought he noticed the pace of Kurosaki’s breathing increase, but it had to be his imagination.

Once he was done with the front, Uryuu instructed, “Lift up your arms,” so he could paint his sides. Firmly, he said, “I don’t care if it ruins your friend’s project, I am not touching your armpits.”

Kurosaki snorted and shook his head in wordless agreement. “It would tickle too much anyway.”

“You’re ticklish?”

“Yeah. Aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Uryuu admitted. “You can lower your arms. Turn around so I can do the back.”

He turned, asking over his shoulder, “How do you not know whether you’re ticklish or not?” Kurosaki paused, considering it, and realized, “No one’s ever tried? Not even your mom?”

“If she did, I was too young to remember.”

“That’s…sorta sad.” Uryuu gave no response. Kurosaki began to propose, “Hey, if you’re curious to know, I could—”

“Don’t even think about it,” he instantly vetoed.

Kurosaki went quiet again. Uryuu mixed up more paint for the third time and managed to finish his entire upper half. He hesitated to kneel so he could continue to the bottom half.

“I can paint my legs,” Kurosaki said when he noticed his reluctance.

Shaking his head, Uryuu reasoned, “You’ll mess up the paint if you bend over before it’s dry, and we don’t have all night.”

“Ryoko’s show starts in less than two hours,” he agreed. He took a deep breath and let it slowly ease out before sinking to his knees in front of Kurosaki. Looking away from Uryuu’s face at last, he murmured to himself, “Yep. Awkward as hell.”

“I don’t have a secret crush on you, Kurosaki.”

He said nothing as Uryuu resumed his painting, but he swallowed hard enough to make his Adam’s apple bob the length of his throat. It almost appeared as though Kurosaki was faintly flushed, but it must have been the warmer temperature.

“You’re starting to sweat,” Kurosaki observed a couple of minutes later. “Want me to turn the heat back down?”

Uryuu didn’t glance up from his task as he answered, “I don’t mind it. Lift up your foot. Use my shoulder for balance if you need to.”

Complying with this latest request, Kurosaki braced a palm to his shoulder and lifted his right foot for Uryuu to paint everywhere but the sole. “You draw the line at armpits but you’re fine with touching my feet?”

He did glance up that time. “Your feet aren’t hairy.”

“Yeah, but they’re still feet.”

“As long as they’re clean.” Giving Kurosaki a wary look, he asked, “You did shower today, didn’t you?”

He laughed. “Yeah, I showered today.”

“Good. Other foot.” As soon as he was finished, Uryuu stood and grabbed a fresh paper plate. “Hard part’s over. Now for the symbols.”

“The hard part was the background?”

“For me, it was. I can paint the rest with a fingertip.”

“Ah, come on, Ishida,” he teased with a fiendish smirk. “It wasn’t that bad rubbing your hands all over me, was it?” Kurosaki gasped theatrically. “You’re the first person to have that honor. Don’t you feel honored?”

Rather than gratify him by retorting with outrage, Uryuu quizzically muttered, “What an odd way to announce you’re a virgin,” and was fiendishly delighted to see his features shift from mischievous to mortified.

“N-no, I didn’t mean—I was just saying—Fuck,” Kurosaki verbally fumbled, giving up because he knew he’d lost that round. “Smartass.”

Uryuu chuckled at his expense and went to wash his bluish-violet hands in the small apartment’s smaller bathroom. When he emerged to tackle part two of this strange art project, Kurosaki was checking himself out in his closet mirror.

“You look like a gigantic mutant blueberry monster swallowed you whole and spat you back out,” Uryuu decided matter-of-factly.

“I didn’t pick the color scheme.”

“Can I go with you to the art gallery? I want to catch your friend’s reaction when she sees you.”

“Yeah, you can come. She gave me a plus-one for helping her out.”

“Oh. Well, if it’s that exclusive why don’t you take that girl majoring in micro, um…”

“Takahana?” He nodded but Kurosaki shook his head. “I guess she’s kinda into me, but there’s someone else I like already.”

“Then you should ask her to the show,” Uryuu encouraged him, taking off his glasses to swipe beads of sweat from his brow. While he had them off, he set to cleaning his lenses on the hem of his shirt as he said, “You’ll certainly make an impression on her.”

“Him.”

“What?”

“The person I like,” Kurosaki said slowly so he wouldn’t be misinterpreted, “is a guy.”

Uryuu froze. For some unknown reason, he was suddenly apprehensive to look up and meet the gaze he could feel fixed on him. He realized he was afraid to know what type of expression Kurosaki was showing him after making that brazen statement. He was even more afraid of what he might think it meant.

“You should ask _him_ to the show,” Uryuu amenably amended, and moved right along with his life. “Is the paint on your arms dry yet?”

He put his glasses back on and went straight to mixing the next batch of paint, a vivid lemon-lime green to contrast nicely with the velvety purple.

“I think so, yeah.” As Uryuu began to paint the swirly patterns around his biceps, Kurosaki asked, “That’s really all you have to say about it?”

“About what?” Uryuu asked pointedly, hoping he’d take the hint.

He didn’t. He insisted, “About me coming out to you ten seconds ago.”

“Thanks for telling me,” diplomatically intoned Uryuu.

There was a definite edge of aggravation in Kurosaki’s voice as he said, “Ishida, will you stop painting for a minute and look at me?”

Uryuu stopped painting and looked at him. “Is there something else I’m supposed to say, Kurosaki?”

“Don’t you want to hear the name of the guy I like?”

He crossed his arms, remembering the paint on his fingers too late and leaving a green handprint above his inner elbow. “It’s none of my business who you like.”

“What if it was?”

“Why would it be?”

Kurosaki set his jaw as the pinch between his brow deepened. “Maybe you know him.”

“Do we really have time for this? You’ll be late for your friend’s show at this rate. Now, do you want me to finish the project or not? I have better things to do on a Saturday night than playing whatever game—”

“It’s you, dumbass.”

“What?”

“You’re the guy I like.” Uryuu shook his head, gearing up to argue, but Kurosaki said, “I know this is a pretty wacky way to confess to somebody, but it’s true. I’m the one who has a secret crush on _you_ , Ishida.”

He wanted to call bullshit. Kurosaki wasn’t being serious. There was no way. But Uryuu couldn’t say any of that because Kurosaki did look serious. Deadly so. He looked like he was waiting for an honest answer, too.

“Did you lure me here tonight just to spring this on me like a trap?”

“No.” He hesitated, then admitted, “Well, kinda. It was Ryoko’s idea to ask you to paint me for her show.”

“You told your artist friend about me?”

“She kept trying to set me up with her girlfriends, then her guy friends after I told her I’m actually into men. I had to tell her about you, too, or she never would’ve let it go.”

Uryuu glanced at the pile of paints, the plastic sheet on the floor, and the half-finished painting on Kurosaki himself. “What was the plan here? Did you think that if you stripped down and begged me to touch you, I’d suddenly realize how hot I am for you and go wild?”

He was definitely blushing as he mumbled, “When you say it like that…”

“You should’ve just told me like a normal person.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I—Wait, does that mean you’re not rejecting me?”

Uryuu sighed and straightened his glasses, getting green paint on them, too, but he didn’t care anymore. “If this is all some idiotic joke…”

“It’s not a joke,” Kurosaki firmly denied. “I like you, Ishida. I’ve liked you for a long time.”

“Only you could say something that embarrassing so bluntly.”

“Okay, but are you ever gonna give me an answer, or what?”

Kurosaki hid it well, but Uryuu could tell he was nervous. This definitely wasn’t a joke.

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

Kurosaki nodded firmly. “That’s exactly what I’m asking you.”

Uryuu felt a bit dizzy. Vertigo was setting in.

“How long?” he asked.

Without hesitation, Kurosaki answered, “Years.”

“Since high school?”

“Yeah.”

“Then, why confess now?”

“Because I heard some girl from one of your classes asked you out.”

“She did,” Uryuu confirmed.

“You turned her down?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck as he considered how to respond. Kurosaki didn’t rush him.

“Because…I’m into men, too.” Uryuu didn’t miss the way his eyes flashed with hope and excitement to hear it.

“Ishida, please,” he said, the emotion plain in his voice. “I need to know.”

“Before I give you an answer, there’s something I need to do first.”

Kurosaki’s excitement turned to trepidation in a blink. “What is it?”

Words were unnecessary when a demonstration would do. Uryuu stepped in close and leaned up a little to kiss him. He wasn’t sure what to expect. How it would feel to kiss someone for the first time. To kiss _Kurosaki_. But he was an empiricist. The data never lied. And the data told Uryuu this wasn’t terrible. He didn’t want to stop after just once kiss. He wanted to stop even less after a few more.

By the time he realized they were already making out, he figured he had his answer.

“All right, Kurosaki,” he finally broke the kiss to say, “I’ll go out with you.”

“You will?” He seemed shocked. Utterly floored. As if the whole thing had been a desperate Hail Mary and he’d never gotten past the what-if stage to consider what-next. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. I wouldn’t joke about this.”

“No, I know you wouldn’t, but it just—”

“Feels too easy?” Kurosaki nodded. “That’s because it is. It’s easy now, but that doesn’t mean it always will be. I sincerely hope you’ve thought about what having me as your boyfriend would actually be like, or this relationship isn’t going to last long.”

“I have. I’ve thought about it a lot, Ishida. I know it won’t always be easy. I know there will be times when we fight like maniacs. I want that, too. Not just the good stuff but all of it. All of you.”

Uryuu felt an honest-to-goodness chill streak down his back. “You want all of me?”

Lifting a hand to gently brush dark hair back from his face, Kurosaki replied, “Yeah, I really do,” and gave Uryuu a long, meaningful kiss.

He wasn’t sure what was happening inside him just then, but he liked it. He liked the feeling of Kurosaki’s mouth against his. The pressure of his lips. The heat of his tongue. He had really liked hearing Kurosaki say he wanted everything. Everything? Yes, all of it. All of him. Everything Uryuu had to give. Everything Kurosaki would have to put up with, too. And something shifted in Uryuu’s chest, in his mind. The low hum of interest he’d felt while touching Kurosaki’s body with paint-slick hands suddenly roared. Uryuu wanted everything, too. He needed it. Right now.

Kurosaki made a surprised noise as he was suddenly shoved to the bed. The plastic sheet covering the blanket rustled, the paints went scattering to the floor with a swipe of Uryuu’s arm. He snatched off his glasses and tossed them aside without looking, still absorbed in kissing Kurosaki feverishly. Uryuu had his thighs around Kurosaki’s waist. There was heat there, too. He didn’t have to glance down to know Kurosaki was excited for him.

Sitting up just long enough to swipe his shirt over his head, Uryuu said, “I hope you have actual lube, because paint is not an option.”

Kurosaki looked like he wanted to laugh, but he was too shocked and breathless to spare the air. He wordlessly pointed to the side table on Uryuu’s left. Reaching for the drawer, he scrabbled around until he felt a smooth plastic object. He tossed it beside them and made quick work of getting his own slacks off. They were already smeared with paint from Kurosaki’s skin. It was all over Uryuu’s hands and arms. It would cover most of his body by the time they were done. He would make sure of it.

“Ishida,” he murmured, smoothing heavy palms over thighs, hips, waist. “You have no idea how bad I’ve wanted to see you like this.”

He kissed Kurosaki, guiding one of his hands down to the hem of his underwear. “Show me how bad you want me.”

Uryuu shivered to hear him moan. Kurosaki pulled his underwear down and pushed him to the bed. He slipped off his grey boxers. Uryuu bit his lip to see Kurosaki so hard and ready for what would happen next.

Without being told, he snatched up the bottle of lube and flicked it open. He asked with his eyes. Uryuu nodded and spread his legs in welcome. He tilted his head back and groaned to feel Kurosaki’s fingers touching, pressing, sliding. He was impatient. He wanted the fire, the twinge of pain, the cascade of pleasure he’d heard about. He didn’t want gentle, careful, or kind. He wanted to let lust consume him, consume them both until nothing else mattered.

Uryuu dug his fingers into Kurosaki’s shoulders, demanding.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, kissing Uryuu’s throat to distract from the sensation of fingers working.

His nails bit harder, making Kurosaki wince. “I want to feel everything,” Uryuu told him fiercely, “all of you.”

Kurosaki lost his breath, lost his mind. Lost all restraint. He pushed inside. He wasn’t gentle.

Uryuu’s mouth fell open as pleasure and pain twisted and whirled and sparked. He didn’t realize he’d stopped breathing until Kurosaki reminded him. He took a breath, and the intensity of it all staggered him.

He managed to get one word out, “ _Move_ .”

And Kurosaki did as he was told, like a good boy. He always did as he was told, even when he bitched about it. Uryuu never knew it was because of this. This feeling, these emotions. The power Uryuu held over him. Kurosaki had wanted him this way all along. Years. Uryuu felt himself blush at the very idea. Even as Kurosaki rocked above him, working his hard cock in and out of him—slow, then fast, then deep. Uryuu writhed beneath him, fighting for the breath to moan about it. To curse because he was not going to last much longer. Not nearly as long as he wanted to.

His thighs tightened around Kurosaki’s hips. He was bucking up to meet each thrust, back arching as shivers of pleasure shot down his spine. His nails bit, dragged down that flexing back but Kurosaki didn’t complain. He set his teeth to Uryuu’s shoulder and pinched. Just enough to make him gasp. Kurosaki shifted and Uryuu screamed, assaulted by blinding white streaks of pleasure so strong it warned like pain.

He felt his mouth forming words, lungs working to give them life. He was begging and Kurosaki was moaning like a broken thing, desperate to give Uryuu whatever he asked for. When he felt himself start to come, he hated it. He fucking  _loved_ it. He needed it. He reveled in it. Especially when Kurosaki choked on nothing and made a sound like giving in, his voice tipping high and tremulous. Uryuu felt him spill inside, felt his body quake from the strain and the release. Kurosaki was trembling all over, panting like a life-or-death race had been won.

“Fuck,” he rasped, shifting to tremble and pant on the plastic beside Uryuu instead. “God _damn_ , Ishida, you were so…”

It was only then, in the wake of Kurosaki’s speechless shock, that he really thought about what had just happened. What they had done. What Uryuu had  _become_ . He’d had no clue there was a raging beast of pure lust sleeping inside him. Or that Kurosaki would be the one to rouse it. He looked at his hands, covered in paint. More wedged under his nails.

“Sorry about the scratching,” he said, biting back a smirk.

Kurosaki shook his head, still staring at the ceiling, stunned. “I liked it.” He sounded as surprised at himself as Uryuu felt. “Sorry I bit you.”

It was Uryuu’s turn to shake his head. “I liked it.” He couldn’t fight his smirk anymore. Kurosaki saw it and grinned.

“I had no idea you would be like this in bed. It was like fucking a wild animal,” he said and laughed with a tinge of relief. “For a second there, I wasn’t sure I’d make it out alive. Felt like my heart was gonna burst out of my chest.”

Smiling about that, Uryuu looked him over and realized, “We’ll have to start all over to finish your friend’s project.”

“Oh,” Kurosaki said, glancing down as if he just noticed the mess they’d made of her artwork. “Yeah, I guess so…”

Uryuu hummed and admitted, “I don’t think I can get through the whole project without attacking you again.”

Kurosaki snorted, fighting off a laugh. “Well, at least she’ll be glad to hear her plan worked: you did suddenly realize how hot you are for me and went wild.”

Uryuu rolled his eyes, but he knew he couldn’t deny it.


End file.
